steel of Enlibar forged into swords. The Nisibisi do not fight in neat ranks and
files; they ambush and we will ambush them in turn until we’ve made our names.
Then with more swords-“
She sighed loudly. For one raging moment Walegrin thought she would turn on her
heels and leave. Had she honestly expected him to scrabble for Jubal’s lost
domain? Or did she sense the hollowness of his confidence?
“I doubt it-but at least I’ll be out of Sanctuary,” she offered him her hand as
she spoke.
A mercenary captain welcomed his men with a hand-shake and a comrade’s embrace.
Wale-grin did not embrace women as comrades. When he needed to he found some
ordinary slut, laid her on her back and, with her skirts up to hide her face,
took what he needed. He had seen women, ladies, that he would not treat in such
a manner-but they had never seen him.
Cythen was no slut, and she’d hurt him if he treated her that way. She was no
lady, either- not with her clothes half-gone and covered with dirt. Still, he
wasn’t about to set her back on the streets-at least not until she had a good
meal. After quickly wiping his hand on his hip, Wale-grin took hers.
She had a firm grip, not man-strong but strong enough to wield a sword. Trying
to make it seem natural, Walegrin raised his other arm for the embrace and was
saved from the deed itself by a thumping, shouting commotion on the stairs
outside.
Thrusher was flat against the wall. Walegrin had a knife out of its forearm
sheath and just enough time to see Cythen remove a nasty assassin’s blade from